


Ripping A Hole In The Fade - Modern AU

by Disputedleech



Series: Ripping A Hole In The Fade [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Multi, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 09:04:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3804652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disputedleech/pseuds/Disputedleech
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A modern AU to go with the main fic, Ripping A Hole In The Fade.</p><p>Rated mature for language and alcohol use.</p><p>Written by <a href="http://flowerqueenmerrill.tumblr.com">flowerqueenmerrill</a> and <a href="http://magefeathernerd.tumblr.com">magefeathernerd</a> on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Withdrawal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian has just started dealing with his alcoholism with the help of his friends. Cyrith, a roommate and friend whose sister has been going to AA meetings with Dorian, finds him and tries to help him through the first night of his withdrawal.

Cyrith wandered throughout Varric’s mansion, getting to know his new surroundings. He hesitated outside one room, however, when he heard quiet mumblings in a language he didn’t actually _speak_. He was fairly sure that it was Tevene. Which would mean that it was either Dorian or Krem. He knocked lightly on the door before opening it and peeking inside.

The room was mostly dark, although there was one dim light on in the corner. From the faint light, Cyrith was able to make out Dorian sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. “Dorian?”

The stream of Tevene broke off suddenly, and Dorian looked up, scowling at the intruder. “What?” He snapped.

Cyrith flinched at Dorian’s tone, before taking a deep breath and speaking.“I was walking past and I heard you. So I decided to check on you.”

“You checked in, now you can check out.” Dorian grumbled, looking away from Cyrith.

“You missed dinner.”

“I wasn’t exactly hungry.” Dorian clasped his hands together in an attempt to hide how badly they were shaking.

Cyrith frowned, his eyebrows knitting together with worry. “Maire gets the same way. But you still need to eat.”

Digging his nails into his hands, Dorian growled out,“If I am not hungry, then I am not hungry.”

“If I got you some crackers would you please try to eat at least a few of them?”

Dorian sighed. “If I must.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” Cyrith ran out of the room and down to the kitchen, where he grabbed a box of saltine crackers, and brought them back to Dorian’s room. “Here.” He pressed the box into Dorian’s hands, who accepted it with a grimace.

He inspected the package before opening and pulling out a single cracker, studying it. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Do you need water?”

Dorian took a small bite, slowly chewed, and swallowed it dryly. “That might be preferable.”

Cyrith nodded and left the room, returning to the kitchen for a bottle of water. Upon returning to the room, he handed it to Dorian wordlessly.

Setting down the box he accepted the offered bottle, and made an attempt to unscrew the cap, only to fail due to the tremors. “Kaffas!” He cursed.

Cyrith sat down next to Dorian and took the bottle, quickly removing the cap for him before returning the bottle. “Here you go.”

Dorian glared at the water before taking a long swig, not having realized just how thirsty he truly was. “Thank you, again. You did not need to do this.”

“I wanted to help. Maire seems to be alright at the moment, but you still need help sometimes, and that’s okay.”

The Tevinter set down the water and leaned his head against his knees, letting out a large sigh. “Forgive me for . . . snapping at you earlier. It was unworthy of me.”

Cyrith smiled at him, hoping to be reassuring. “That’s okay. You’re . . . I guess the best phrase would be ‘going through a hard time?’” He paused to gather his thoughts. “You’re going through a hard time. It’s understandable if you snap at people occasionally.”

Dorian barked out a harsh laugh. “I’ve been going through a hard time for years. This is simply the icing on the cake.” He lifted his head and reached for the cracker box to retrieve another one, suddenly hungrier than he assumed earlier. “But I dug my own grave, now I must lie in it.”

“You’ve got people who will help you now. Including me.”

“I . . . I still forget sometimes . . .” He said, staring down at the cracker in his hand before he took a bite.

“I’m still not used to having anyone other than Maire to look out for me. I think Cole forgets that this is actually his _home_ , half the time. You aren’t the only one who forgets.”

Dorian snorted and swallowed. “At least you have a family to return to.”

Cyrith paused, looking at Dorian. After a moment, he gently ran a hand through the man’s hair, speaking softly. “Family isn’t just who you’re related to.”

“I . . . suppose you are correct.” Dorian leaned into Cyrith’s hand, eyes tearing up slightly. “Look at you, bringing me to tears.” He accused softly.

Cyrith laughed lightly, smiling at Dorian. “Happy tears, right?”

He wiped one eye, giving a weak smile. “The happiest.”

Cyrith nodded, humming softly as he thought. “Do you want me to sit and talk with you for a bit?”

“Hmm?” Dorian hummed quietly, leaning further into the elf. He mumbled slightly, just starting to doze off, “Perhaps just sit with me, my head is aching something fierce.”

“Okay. I’ll just sit here until you want me to leave.”

The Tevinter laid his head atop Cyrith’s, breathing in the scent of the boy’s shampoo. “Don’t ever leave.” He murmured softly into his hair before falling into a light sleep.

“I can live with that.” Cyrith whispered as he gently took Dorian’s hand, careful not to wake him.

_He probably won’t remember this, anyway. So it’s not going to be a problem._

Although the thought made him a little sad, it was comforting to know that Dorian wouldn’t remember this well enough to be upset. With that thought, Cyrith drifted off as well.

Not too long later, Dorian startled awake, the shadows of a nightmare quickly fading. While recovering he blinked, confused as to why he was on the floor. Slowly he remembered what was said, and how Cyrith took care of him. He stared down at their entwined hands before smiling softly.

_Maybe this won’t be so bad after all,_ he thought as he squeezed the elf’s hand tightly and let more pleasant thoughts of the future chase away the past. _Not bad at all._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to add that despite this, Cyrith and Dorian _somehow_ do not read this as romantic? They literally spend 2 years just . . . being completely dense.   
>  \- fenrisistheblackwidow


	2. Cyrith's Suduction Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While at a party with family and friends, Cyrith gets a bit nervous while making eyes at Dorian and has a _bit_ too much to drink. He comes up with a plan to win Dorian over, although he might not have thought the details all the way through.
> 
> Will this have a happy outcome? Or will it end in tears?
> 
> This takes place approximately two years after the chapter last chapter, Withdrawal.

Cyrith’s Night

Cyrith glanced at the drink that Bull had pressed into his hand a while ago, before looking across the room at Dorian as he chattered away with Maire. He finally took a sip of it, wincing at the way it burned on the way down. Although he didn’t know it, Maire had gotten Bull to give her younger brother whiskey. All he knew was that it was different from the last two drinks he’d had, lacking their sweet fruity tastes. Cyrith watched as Dorian threw his head back laughing at something that his sister said, and he swallowed nervously, looking away again.

_I just need to go up and talk to him. It’s not that hard . . . it shouldn’t be that hard._

He returned his gaze to the pair, in time to notice his sister smirking at him, and Dorian choking on his cider. Cyrith frowned, taking another sip of his whiskey and observing them.

_What did she just say to him? Was it about me? Oh Gods, it was totally about me._

By this point, Dorian’s voice carried across the room a little, and Cyrith caught a bit of their conversation: “My gods, woman! Are you trying to  _kill_  me?!” Now he was more than a little concerned about what Maire was saying to Dorian. Pushing the thought from his mind, he continued drinking his whiskey, taking bigger sips than he had before, as he started to get a used to the burning sensation, to the point where it was somewhat bearable. He met Dorian’s gaze as the older mage looked across the room at him, feeling his face flush with embarrassment.

_Now he’s going to think that I’m staring! I’m not staring. I’m just . . . curious what he’s talking about with Maire. Yeah. That’s it._

Nevermind the fact that he was staring. And he was  _definitely_  taking note of the fact that Dorian currently stood completely still, with his mouth hanging open. Cyrith shrugged, looking away again before downing the rest of the glass of whiskey. There was a faint tingling in his fingers, and he found himself wondering if that was what a buzz felt like.

Cyrith looked to Dorian again, finding that the idea of simply grabbing him and kissing him was rather appealing. Although, perhaps not in the middle of the room filled with their friends. With that in mind, he walked into the kitchen, set his empty glass in the sink, and then found the nearest linen closet and waited inside. He didn’t know  _why_  he was waiting for Dorian in a closet, or if he would even come, but it didn’t seem like the worst idea in the world.

He waited in the closet, listening for Dorian’s approach. He had noticed a while ago that Dorian made a certain sound when walking. Cyrith figured it was the way he walked that made it sound different, but it did guarantee that he wouldn’t drag the wrong person into the linen closet.

As it turned out, it didn’t take Dorian long to approach. Cyrith had only been waiting for about five minutes when he heard the distinctive footfalls approaching down the hall.

_Here he comes._

* * *

 Dorian’s Night

Taking a sip of his sparkling cider, Dorian chatted lightly with Maire, while watching Cyrith out of the corner of his eye. “So, what did you think of the latest plot twist Varric put Cassandra and her ‘Seeker Order’ through?" Placing a hand on his chest, he said, "I found it positively cruel to discover that the head of the order had been sabotaging their work.”

“Honestly, I think Varric only puts her through the ringer cause he’s got a crush.” Maire waggled her eyebrows at her friend, smirking.

Dorian threw his head back laughing, “Now  _that’s_  an amusing image, those two in a relationship.” He lifted his drink again, mildly toasting the joke.

“You know what else is amusing? The idea of you and my brother in a relationship.” Maire smirked across the room at Cyrith, raising an eyebrow.

Choking on his cider, Dorian sputtered out, “My gods, woman! Are you trying to  _kill_  me?!” He slammed down his glass as hard as he could without breaking it. Shifting his weight, he questioned her nervously. “What ever gave you that idea?”

Dorian glanced over to the young man in question, meeting his gaze,  _How did she know? Does Cyrith know? Am I that obvious?!_

“Perhaps it’s the puppy eyes you keep sending each other everywhere?” Maire swirled her own drink, grimacing as she took a sip. “We’ve nearly gotten kicked out of several establishments because of the way you two keep eye fucking. Varric had to pay a lot of them off, some were even threatening to call Aveline for public indecency.”

Maire turned and emptied her glass before grabbing a bottle of scotch. The man stood with his mouth wide open. “You’re going to catch some flies with your honeyed tongue that way.” She went to pour herself some of the liquor before Dorian snatched it out of her hand.

“And  _you_  are going to need to speak to your sponsor again if you keep that up.” He reached up to set the bottle on a shelf higher than she could reach, glaring at her over his shoulder. Dorian turned back and glanced over to where Cyrith was previously standing. Confused, he turned to Maire. “Where did he go?”

The woman pouted. “Where did  _who_  go?”

“You  _know_  who, brat.” Dorian glared.

“He went into the kitchen, but I don’t know where he went from there.” She smirked and gestured towards the door. “Go find him.”

“I’m going to find him, but  _only_  to keep him from hurting himself.” Dorian stalked away, calling over his shoulder. “You better not grab any more liquor. I will find out!”

He strode quickly towards the kitchen, dodging several partygoers in the process. Once there, he looked around and saw no sign of Cyrith. “Where could he have wandered off to?” He murmured under his breath, taking the hallway to his left. Dorian was not expecting the linen closet door to swing open, and for someone to drag him inside, and he certainly wasn’t expecting to find himself pushed up against said closet door, kissing Cyrith. Not that he had too many complaints about his current situation.

After a moment, Dorian pushed Cyrith away, not quite as gently as he meant to. He winced as the elf collided with the shelf behind him. “Not that I mind, but what in the world are you doing?”

As he reached to help Cyrith up, the boy spoke, “I . . I’m sorry. I just thought . . . nevermind.”

Dorian held him for a moment before releasing, thinking he was steady. “It seems we both - oof . . . ” He was cut off as Cyrith toppled over, his face pressed into the neckline of his shirt. Dorian grasped Cyrith’s arm with one hand to steady him once again. “Are you alright, my dear?”

The young man mumbled into Dorian’s shirt. “No. I’m an idiot.”

“It seems we both are.” Dorian chuckled.

Cyrith stumbled trying to find the right words. “But you’re . . . you are . . . You’re perfect, Dorian.”

“That I am, but it seems that when it comes to the matters of heart I am the fool.” He shook his head and looked at Cyrith.

“Dorian?” They met each other’s eyes as Cyrith’s blush deepened.

Dorian chuckled as he pressed a kiss to Cyrith’s cheek. “I seemed to have been blind to what was in front of me the entire time.” He pressed their foreheads together gently. “Although I would have preferred for our first kiss to be somewhere nicer than a closet. It’s a bit of a cliché.”

He eased his grip on Cyrith’s arm, having felt Cyrith tense as he spoke. Lifting his head slightly he asked. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I'm okay. And if you'd like something different to ‘count’ as our first kiss we can start over?” Cyrith assured him, nodding his head as he wobbled slightly.

Dorian’s eyebrows knitted together with worry. “Perhaps we should sit you down first.” He suggested, reaching behind himself to open the door. He grasped the handle and pushed the door open with his hip, leading Cyrith out by the arm.

“I’m fine, I don't need to sit,” Cyrith insisted as he stumbled into Dorian.

“You can barely stand on your own without toppling over, I don’t want you to crack your head open.” Before Cyrith could come up with a reasonable retort, they noticed Isabela and Varric standing at the end of the hallway.

“Well, Rivani, you owe me $10.”

Isabela grumbled as she passed the dwarf the money. “Damn! I thought they’d’ve at least lost  _some_  clothes.”

Without missing a beat, Dorian turned and glared at Isabela. “Well, unlike _some_ people, I am above taking advantage of someone in his state.”

Varric studied Cyrith more closely. “You're right, Koala's not looking so hot.”

Cyrith grunted, waving a hand at Varric. “M’fine, honest.”

“You taste like a liquor store.”

Cyrith made an attempt at straightening up, only to pitch forward again. Dorian’s hand on his arm was the only thing that kept him from planting his face into the carpet.

“Please do be careful.” Dorian said as he pivoted and wrapped an arm around the elf’s waist to steady him yet again. “This absolutely proves my point.”

Cyrith leaned against Dorian, murmuring, “I blame Maire.”

Dorian threw his head back and laughed for the second time within the hour. “I do as well, but that’s not exactly important right now. You need to sit down.”

“Or maybe you could tuck him in for the night in one of the guest rooms. I’m not sure that he'd make it all the way to his own room.” Varric suggested with a snort.

“Cyrith would want Dorian to do more than tuck him in, isn’t that right cutie?” Varric sighed before grabbing Isabela’s wrist and dragging her down the hall.

Dorian led Cyrith to the nearest guest room, pushed the door open and ushered him towards the bed. As soon as Dorian gently released his grip, Cyrith toppled face first into the mattress. After a moment, he rolled over to look at Dorian. “Will you stay in here tonight? Please?”

Biting his lip, Dorian sighed. “I will, although I believe it wise that we keep the hands and mouths from wandering until we speak in the morning.” He paused for a moment. “Sleep clothes might also be a good idea.”

Cyrith nodded. “Yeah, probably.”

“Well, I shall return shortly.” Dorian turned to leave the room, and made his way upstairs to his own room. He strode over to his chest of drawers to retrieve two pairs of pajamas. As soon as he grabbed them, he rushed out of the room and back towards the suite that Cyrith was waiting for him in.

Upon returning to the room, Dorian found Cyrith on the floor, struggling to get his jeans off. “I’m stuck!”

Dorian laughed to himself. “I can see that.” He stepped over Cyrith and set the clothes down on the bed. “Would you like some assistance with that?”

“Yes please. I . . . uh . . . may also need help getting my binder off.”

Titling his head at the familiar word, _He’s trans?_ Dorian wondered as he  reached down to help Cyrith off the floor. He added the information to the list of things they should discuss in the morning. “Here, my dear. Let’s get you up first.”

“Thank you, Dorian,” Cyrith murmured, getting to his feet with Dorian's help, before sitting down on the bed.

Dorian knelt down at the elf’s feet, untied his shoes and removed them before pulling the jeans the rest of the way down his thighs and off his legs entirely. He set both aside and grabbed one pair of pajama pants. “Step,” He instructed.

Cyrith nodded, grasping Dorian’s shoulder as he clumsily stepped into the pajama pants and stood shakily. “Y’know, I wanted to kiss you for a long time,” Cyrith informed Dorian, trying to make eye contact with him.

Laughing, Dorian looked up slightly as he pulled the pants up his crush’s legs. “Really now? How long would that be, exactly?”

“Uh . . . kinda, sorta a week after Maire and I moved in?”

Dorian paused when he stood. “I . . . Really?” He asked, blinking in amazement. “That was . . . so soon?”

“Well . . .You’re reeeeeally pretty, Dori.”

Dorian chuckled. “Well, I suppose I am.” He pulled the drawstrings tight so they wouldn’t slip down before tying them off.

“Okay . . . You do kinda know how a binder works, yeah?”

Nodding, Dorian asked, “They’re similar to shirts, just tighter, yes?”

“More or less. The back part is a bit different, though. At least on this one.”

Dorian swallowed, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. “Would you also like assistance with the shirt or would you like to do that yourself?”

Cyrith started to pull his shirt off, only for it to get stuck halfway over his head. “Help!” He started giggling, seemingly amused by the fact that he got stuck trying to take his own shirt off.

“Help is on its way then.” Dorian laughed, he untangled the shirt from the arms waving out the top before pulling it all the way off.

“Thanks.”

“You are quite welcome, your lordship. I shall always be at your service.” Grasping the end of the binder around Cyrith’s waist, he pulled it up and over his head and arms. He leaned over to grab the matching shirt and handed it to Cyrith, keeping his eyes from looking at Cyrith. “Shall I be of service with this as well?”

“Let me try, first.” Cyrith glanced at the shirt. “Gryffindor? Really? I am a Hufflepuff!” He huffed, before pulling the shirt on without getting stuck.

Dorian picked up the Ravenclaw pajamas before stepping back. “Well, perhaps it’s just as well that I didn’t bring the Slytherin pair for myself instead, we could have been rivals.” Dorian laughed.

“But you’re wearing the correct house!” Cyrith cried, feigning annoyance.

“Hmmmm, perhaps I just think you look cute in red?” Dorian raised an eyebrow.

“I . . . um . . . ” Cyrith trailed off, feeling his face and ears warming again.

Cracking a smile, Dorian pointed to Cyrith’s cheeks. “Yes! Like that lovely shade, right there.”

“Doriii.” Cyrith did his best to cover his cheeks with his hands, looking away from Dorian.

Dorian laughed as he turned to undress. While he was undressing, he was faintly aware of the fact that a certain elf may as well have been staring holes into his back. Once finished, he slowly got dressed in the navy pajamas. He stooped over to pick up Cyrith’s clothes and folded both sets before placing them atop the dresser next to the bed. When he returned his attention to Cyrith, he was making a point of looking anywhere in the room, but at Dorian. After a moment, the elf crawled under the blanket, poking his head out to say, “This blanket is really soft.”

“Well I hope it’s just as warm. Varric’s house gets too cold for me most nights.” Dorian informed as he pulled aside the blanket and got into the bed with Cyrith.

“That’s because you don't know how to handle cold.”

Dorian huffed as he squirmed to get comfortable.“You southerners.”

Cyrith yawned, squirming and getting comfortable. “We’ll talk tomorrow, right?”

Turning on his side he turned off the light. “Yes, we shall. Although I’m sure you’ll have some kind of fun hangover.”

“You’ll take care of me,” Cyrith murmured as his eyes drifted shut.

“As you wish.”

* * *

 Their Morning

Dorian woke up in a bed that was not his own, with slender arms wrapped around his waist. He looked around, confused, until the events of the previous night returned to him. Smiling to himself, he turned in Cyrith’s embrace to watch him sleep.

After about ten minutes, Cyrith began to stir, and loosen his grip on Dorian. A soft smile crossed his face when Dorian pressed a soft kiss to Cyrith's head.

“Good morning.” Dorian greeted cheerfully. He laughed when Cyrith grimaced at the sound of his voice.

“My head hurts.” Cyrith whined.

Dorian chuckled softly before murmuring. “I supposed it would, wouldn’t it?”

Peeking open one eye, Cyrith cautiously asked, “We have a lot to talk about, don't we?”

“Yes,” Dorian agreed. “We do, but we can discuss over breakfast.” He sat up and paused, smirking at the elf. “If you’re up for it, that is.”

Cyrith rolled over and buried his head into the pillow. “Bull and Sera are probably being really loud . . . they always are in the mornings.”

“Sera is probably nursing a worse headache than you are with how much she drank last night.” Dorian patted Cyrith’s shoulder before leaning against the headboard to get comfortable.

“I suppose. But I would rather just stay here with you.”

Dorian beamed. “I have no complaints with that.”

Cyrith rolled onto his side to look at Dorian as he spoke. “You probably have questions, yeah?”

Holding up his index finger, Dorian started his list, “Several, the first one being: Why the closet?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time?”

“Honestly, it’s such a cliché, coming out of the closet and all.” Dorian laughed at his own joke, reaching over to run a hand through Cyrith’s hair.

“We can . . . start over, if you want. Like I said last night.”

Dorian waved of the idea. “No, absolutely not. If I must live the cliché, then I will do so with pride.” He postured.

“Alright. That works for me. Next question?”

“Second question, hmmm . . . Are you sure? About me, that is.” The Tevinter raised his second finger, counting off the queries he thought of last night.

Cyrith barely had to pause and think about his answer, as he’d asked himself the same question many times over the past few years. “Not entirely, but that’s life.”

“Good answer. I’m not entirely sure about myself either.” Dorian nodded solemnly.

Cyrith raised an eyebrow, somewhat skeptical. “Really? You always seem so confident.”

Straightening up, he gestured to himself as if accepting praise. “Exactly, I can’t be too perfect. Otherwise the gods might become jealous of a mere mort - ”

Cyrith rolled his eyes and poked Dorian in the ribs.

Dorian yelped and jerked back, before slouching down next to Cyrith again.

Cyrith glared at Dorian as he gripped his head. “Why so loud?”

“ _You_  were the one who tickled  _me_!” Dorian admonished.

“Alright, fair enough. Next question?”

Dorian paused, considering his question for a moment before speaking. “Why me?”

That question was enough to give Cyrith pause. He'd thought about it often enough in the last two years, but he’d never really been able to settle on any one answer. “I . . . I don’t really know. You seemed like someone who wouldn't change who they are just because someone told them to. I liked that.”

“I . . . Thank you, Cyrith.” The answer surprised Dorian, honestly. Most men he had been with in the past cared not for who he was as a person, and his parents certainly didn’t, despite raising him that to be that person. It was refreshing and warmed his heart to know that someone did.

“You’re welcome.” Cyrith smiled, kissing Dorian’s cheek softly.

Dorian grinned briefly, turning to return the kiss on Cyrith’s cheek. “It . . . means a lot to me, that someone would think that, and . . . like that about me. Thank you.”

“Well, I would be a bit of a hypocrite if I didn’t like that in a person.”

That startled Dorian,  _Did someone hurt him?_  He worried. “Did . . . did someone try to change you?”

Cyrith sighed deeply, looking away from Dorian. “I . . . yes. Someone did.”

Dorian frowned. “May I . . . ask who?” _If only to find them and hunt them down myself_ , he kept to himself.

“It was . . . someone I dated before coming out as trans. I thought he would still accept me, but . . . well. He tried to force me to be someone that I wasn’t. Also, that was the first time I got my nose broken.” Cyrith blinked rapidly, trying to prevent any tears from falling.

Having one of his fears confirmed, Dorian reached out to touch the boy’s cheek. “Suavium, I . . . I’m sorry. No one as sweet as you should be treated that way, ever.”

Normally the compliment would have made Cyrith blush, but he was focused on things that he found far more important. “If you don’t mind telling me, how did you end up . . . well, here?”

Dorian pulled his hand back. “My . . . father did not, I suppose approve would work.” He stared sadly at the wall across the room. “My father did not approve of my, in his words, ‘perversions.’ He and my mother sent me away for conversion therapy. I did not stay for long.”

“That’s awful! I’m so sorry, Dorian. I don’t remember much about my parents, but I don’t think they were anything like you’re making yours out to be.” The elf wrapped his arms around Dorian’s waist, hugging him tightly.

“You have no reason to be sorry. What my parents did could never be as horrible as being attacked by someone you thought you could love.” Dorian stared at his hand and explained, “You’re right though, to say that my parents weren’t anything like yours. Mine were never truly loving, I was more of a trophy than anything else. A status symbol. A legacy to carry on the family name and further their goals.” He clenched his hand at the memories. “They probably don’t deserve to be called parents.”

“You’re an amazing person, Dorian. I’ve known that since I first met you. And you are so much more than what they tried to use you for.”

“Well, thank you again. And you are so much more than that brute, whoever he was, deserved.”

“You’re welcome. And . . . uh . . . ” Cyrith coughed, unsure what to say in response to Dorian. He decided that changing the subject was probably the wisest course of action. “Do you have any other questions?”

“Hmm?” Dorian thought for a moment, trying to remember his last question. “Ah, yes. Were you truly going to go to sleep with your binder on? Don’t you know how dangerous that could be?” He reached over to grasp Cyrith’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

He nodded after a moment, squeezing Dorian’s hand in return. “I do know how dangerous that could be, but I was drunk. There was a good chance that I would have forgotten.”

Staring at their hands, he smiled. “Well, then I’m glad that I suggested changing into sleep clothes.”

“I am too, even if you gave me a Gryffindor shirt.”

“Honestly . . . ” Dorian laughed. “I wore the Hufflepuff one the other night and it’s in the laundry.”

“Fine.” Cyrith grinned up at him. “Um . . . Dorian?”

“Yes?”

“How comfortable are you with . . . displays of affection?”

“I . . .” Taking a moment to think, Dorian played with Cyrith’s fingers. “Well, I was never truly allowed the opportunity. But, I suppose I would feel proud of them.” He threw a charming smile towards his crush.

“Good. I have one more question.”

“Hmmm?” The human hummed.

“Obviously you reciprocate my feelings for you, but . . . for how long?”

“Well,” Dorian thought back to what he had been calling  _the Incident_  in his head. “I had been quite fond of you for a while before, but . . . remember when Vivienne made you wear that outfit?”

“The really expensive one?”

“Yes.” He could remember exactly what brand and fit, having looked at it himself a few weeks prior to  _the Incident_. “The slim fit wool Burberry jacket in claret.”

“I remember. What about it?”

“ _That_  is when I realized how  _attractive_  you are. And how good you look in red.”

“Oh. I was so confused when you ran out of the kitchen!” He admitted, tilting his head slightly and hoping that Dorian would explain.

“Yes, well,” Dorian coughed, feeling his face grow hot. “I had something to, um, take care of?”

Cyrith blinked at Dorian, not understanding at first. “You . . . OH!” He started snickering.

“Yes, well.” He cleared his throat and looked to change the subject. “So, how about breakfast?”

“If I get to hold your hand above the table.”

Dorian squeezed Cyrith’s hand as if reminding him that they were still entangled. “Under the table, above the table, it doesn’t matter to me as long as I get to hold you.”

Cyrith felt his face warming, and he stared at their hands instead of making eye contact. “Well . . .  uh . . . let's go get breakfast.”

He let go of Dorian's hand and sat up, attempting to untangle himself from the covers. He wound up suspended by his leg over the edge of the bed, somehow, his foot caught in the blanket.

Dorian rolled to smirk over the side of the bed. “It seems my services are needed once more, yes?”

“Yes please,” Cyrith murmured, pointedly looking away from Dorian.

“As you wish, amatus.” Chuckling at Cyrith’s plight, Dorian stretched down to help him back up. As he did so, he pulled him into a kiss.

Cyrith leaned into the kiss, smiling against Dorian's mouth.

Dorian grinned in return when they broke the kiss, pressing their foreheads together. “Remind me again why we waited so long?”

Cyrith chuckled as he considered what to say. “We're both idiots, basically.”

Dorian laughed, “Ahh yes, that explains it.”

Cyrith pulled away, moving to climb off of the bed. “I thought of one more thing that I want to ask you.”

Following Cyrith’s lead, Dorian moved back as well. “Yes?”

Cyrith took a deep breath, meeting Dorian's gaze. “Will you be my boyfriend?”

The question hit Dorian as he shifted his weight to the foot he had just placed on the floor, in his surprise he lost his balance and toppled over, landing face first on the floor.

Cyrith’s eyes widened as he watched Dorian fall. After a moment of staring, he ran over and kneeled next to him. “Dorian?”

Pushing himself up off the floor, Dorian all but yelled, “Yes!” He turned to stare at Cyrith with wide eyes. “Of course!”

Cyrith breathed a sigh of relief. “I was honestly worried for a moment, there.”

Dorian lifted himself the rest of the way off the floor before turning to help Cyrith up. “I would be honored to be yours, amatus.”

“What does that mean, anyway?”

Dorian beamed. “It’s an endearment, used for one’s beloved.”

Cyrith smiled at Dorian, “How long have you wanted to call me that?”

With a smile, Dorian bit his lip and looked away shyly. “Since I asked you to never leave, and you never did.”

Cyrith breathed in sharply, surprised. “I thought . . . I didn't know that you still remembered that!”

Dorian took the elf’s hand again, and wove their fingers together. “I remember that I made an ass of myself and you helped me through the first of several difficult nights.” He lifted Cyrith’s hand up and gave it a kiss.

“I remember you were stubborn about eating those crackers.” Cyrith laughed softly, recalling what had happened.

Throwing his head back, Dorian laughed. “I hated saltines so much, I’ve always thought of them as dry and tasteless, I probably resented you for getting them instead of something better. Although now, whenever I feel ill I eat them with some water.”

“Well, it does help. Even if they are gross.” Cyrith shifted so he could rest his head against Dorian's shoulder, before he giggled to himself. “At this rate we’re never going to go to breakfast.”

“Hmm, that doesn’t seem so bad if I get to keep you all to myself.” The Tevinter smirked, pressing a kiss to the top of Cyrith’s head.

Before Cyrith could reply, his stomach growled loudly, and he groaned.

Dorian laughed once again. “Although your stomach seems to have other plans.” With that he led Cyrith out of the room and down the hall towards the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [Tweakerwolf](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Frostbyte/pseuds/TweakerWolf) for proof reading this chapter!  
> You're AWESOME!


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